


For You I Bleed

by Harp_of_Gold



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Caning, Choking, Chronic Pain, Cutting, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Internalized Victim Blaming, Knife Play, M/M, Mental Instability, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Punishment, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Tongue Injury, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, angbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-23 15:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18153815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harp_of_Gold/pseuds/Harp_of_Gold
Summary: Mairon hates being punished. Especially when he doesn't know why. He doesn't handle it well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes dark places. Please check the tags before proceeding.

Melkor shoved him face-first into the bed. Mairon held himself still where he fell, unsure of what was to come. Roughness, even torment, were familiar and welcome when Melkor wanted to play, but something was off tonight. Off and wrong. 

“I won’t have it, lieutenant,” Melkor snarled.

With a sinking feeling, Mairon drew breath to ask how he’d upset his lord, but before he could say a word, Melkor had jabbed his fingers into Mairon’s mouth.

“Your impertinence. Your scheming. As if you think I won’t notice a little viper in my own house.”

Mairon thought back frantically over the last few days, trying to dredge up anything that could account for this treatment. He came up empty. Melkor’s bare fingers, charred and coarse, grasped Mairon’s tongue. He stretched it out and slammed a knife down through it into the mattress, pinning him to the bed. Mairon howled, but he had the presence of mind not to jerk or struggle. He had no desire to rip his tongue any further on the sharp blade. Breathing slowly, he summoned the iron control he usually abandoned in his master’s bed. He must have done something to deserve this. He would suffer his punishment, Melkor would explain his mistake, he would cast himself at Melkor’s feet and renew his vows of obedience and loyalty, and they would move on. He’d rather have the explanation first, but he didn’t get to make that call. 

Already the furs and damask beneath his chin were soaking through with his blood. Mairon heard his lord moving behind him. Carefully he braced himself on his forearms, knees tucked under him, in anticipation of further pain. He didn’t wait long. A thin cane snapped down on his bare ass. He whimpered and focused on keeping his breath steady. He could endure the cane. The worst part was not the lines of fiery agony that blossomed across his ass and thighs. It was the memory of other nights, better nights, when he’d earned his master’s good will, and the cane had been used with very different intent. Melkor had once brought him to orgasm wielding this same tool, on calculated waves of pain-turned-pleasure. Tonight Melkor dealt him pure brutality, underscored with the humiliation of knowing he had failed, had himself brought his master to this point.

Mairon thought he felt blood running down his thighs when Melkor tossed aside the cane, but perhaps it was only sweat. He heard a rustle of robes, and Melkor was behind him again, his hard length sliding along Mairon’s cleft, his body pressed to hot and tortured skin. A small and desperate moan escaped Mairon as his master rutted against him. He readied himself to be breached. It would hurt to be taken like this, with no lube and no regard, but it was a hurt he would accept gladly if he could be of service and atone in some small way for his shortcomings. 

“No, don’t think you’ll enjoy any of this,” Melkor growled. His fingers sought the base of Mairon’s cock, which twitched in interest despite his anguish, and with a small burst of power he laid a binding in his flesh. “There. You’ll get no release until I say.”

Mairon wished he could whisper acknowledgment, or even remind Melkor that a simple command would suffice. The most he could do was to hold his position without a sound that could be construed as protest. He waited expectantly, but instead of Melkor forcing him open, he felt his master pull away, and something hot and wet splattered across his back. 

He strangled a sob. So that was the extent of his disgrace. He was deemed so unworthy as not to be fit to sheathe his master’s cock. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks. Melkor extinguished the lights, leaving only the twin Silmarils that gleamed sickly from the nightstand, and rolled onto his side of the bed.

“Stay put.”

Mairon withered inside at the contempt in Melkor’s voice and steeled himself for the hours to come. All night he obeyed, though his legs and back ached, and he was sorely tempted to pull the knife from his tongue. Every time he swallowed he struggled to keep his tongue still, but even the slightest tug would open his wound and send more blood seeping from him. He hadn't imagined his mouth could be so dry. He knew better than to hope Melkor would be pleased with his dear-bought compliance, but offering him less than his best was unconscionable, and so he suffered until pale morning light crept through the window.

Melkor’s mood had not improved with sleep. He stretched, cursed when his injured foot touched the floor. Mairon made a mental note to mix more of his favored numbing salve. Perhaps with a few tweaks to the formulation…. Melkor jerked the knife free and hauled him off the bed with a fist in his hair. Ignoring the bruises already forming where his knees had slammed into the stone floor, Mairon swiped ineffectively at the fresh and crusted blood mingled on his chin.

“You were rather poor entertainment last night. I trust you’ll do better this time.” Melkor’s cock in his face left him no doubt what was desired. _I’d have pleased you better if you’d allowed,_ Mairon thought. But to Melkor he only murmured, “Of course, my lord,” and took his cock in his mouth with all his reverence and devotion. It was not the most skillful blow job he’d ever given. His tongue hurt and his jaw ached, however much he pretended they didn’t, and with every motion more blood filled his mouth and frothed over Melkor’s length. When he choked on it, trying to take Melkor down his throat, his master pushed him off.

“Get all the blood out of the way.” Melkor held his hair back while he spat mouthfuls of it onto the floor and coughed until his throat was clear. Mairon thought it less pity than annoyance. “Ready now?”

Mairon nodded and opened his mouth. Melkor didn’t let him lead again, simply grasped his head and thrust into him until he came. Swallowing hard, Mairon let no drop of that escape.

“You’ve no shortage of work awaiting you.” Melkor kicked him aside as he rose and reached for a robe. “I don’t want to see your face here again until I summon you.”

Dismayed, Mairon pulled himself shakily to his feet. He hadn’t been banished from his lord’s bed since…well, since the Luthien incident. 

Melkor turned and glared. “What are you still doing here, lieutenant? Get busy.”

Mairon bowed deeply. “Yes, my lord.” As soon as he was far enough down the hall to go unheard, he drove his fist into the wall and cursed roundly. He still didn’t know what he’d done wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days had passed since his punishment, and Mairon hadn’t slept. He couldn’t; every time he slowed his frenetic pace his mind whirled with anxious concern for Melkor and unending choruses of self-recrimination. Melkor hadn’t allowed him in his presence, and that meant his lord would be hurting. No one else was permitted to tend his wounds; no one else must see any break in the façade of his strength. The thought of his lord in so much pain made him feel ill himself. And it was his own unknown fault that had brought them here. If he’d somehow lost his lord’s trust…No. He wouldn’t entertain that possibility. He had to take care of himself now, and then he’d be able to take care of Melkor.

Once it wouldn’t have mattered if he worked himself to the bone non-stop in the forges or drilling troops, but as his master slowly weakened, Mairon had expended his own power to take up the slack. The operations of Angband demanded considerable magical effort to sustain, and innumerable illusions and compulsions required attention as well, each a slight thread in itself but together a heavy burden. Then there was Melkor. Mairon poured as much energy as he could afford each day into injuries that never seemed to heal, at least when Melkor would let him. If all he could do was ease his lord a little, it was worth it. But the result was a Maia always teetering on the edge of total exhaustion, and skipping rest was no longer an option.

When his shaking hands dropped the third stack of spy reports in a row, Mairon finally gave in and pulled a blanket over himself on the small cot he kept in his office for late nights. He didn't like to risk waking Melkor when he couldn't finish his work in time for bed. Lying down, however, didn’t stop his mind from scrutinizing every mistake he might have made. He couldn’t relax. He sighed. He didn’t want to jerk off; it didn’t feel right with Melkor still angry at him. Right now he didn’t deserve any pleasure. But the rush of hormones would be the quickest way to drop himself into sleep, and he’d be no use to Melkor if he couldn’t let his power replenish. 

He grasped himself roughly and set a fast pace, resolved to get it over with and feel as little as possible. He was hovering on the brink, chasing a peak he couldn’t seem to reach, when he remembered. As if he’d been burned he snatched away his hand and threw his arm across his face, disgusted with himself. Melkor had forbidden him to come, had set a binding on him, and here he was attempting to flout his master’s will like he didn’t care. He shuddered. If he’d been left with only a command, without the enchantment’s protection, he would have already disobeyed. That was completely unacceptable. It didn’t matter how tired he was; there was no excuse for forgetting any wish of Melkor’s.

Mairon reached for a sharp, claw-like blade on a nearby shelf. It would have been his next recourse anyway, but it seemed especially necessary now. Pressing the tip against his upper arm, he drew it across his skin. Slowly, so the cut would hurt more; with steady, even force, because precision soothed him almost as much as the pain. He carved neat parallel ranks of lines down his arm and let the welling sensation drown out everything else. The knot of dread in his chest loosened, and he drifted off with the knife still in hand. 

When a week had passed with no summons, Mairon could take no more. He slipped into his lord’s chambers when evening came. Melkor sat hunched in his chair by the fire. Quietly Mairon knelt before him and bowed his head to the floor. 

“Come to beg?” Mairon heard the weariness behind Melkor’s sneer, and his heart ached. “I really didn’t think it’d take you this long.”

Mairon didn’t move or raise his head. “Please, my lord. I don’t deserve your favor, but I do beg to be restored to it.”

“Only a week to have you reduced to this…perhaps I should take away your orgasms more often.”

“Is that what you think of me?” Despite what trouble it might bring him, Mairon reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of Melkor’s robes, pulling him close. “I don’t care if you ever let me come again. All that matters to me is that I please you; it's all that's ever mattered!” 

Melkor seized his wrists before he could plead further, and Mairon realized his sleeves had fallen back and revealed his lacerated skin. “What is this? Who did this to you?!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Mairon confessed, looking away. “I never can when you’re unhappy with me. They used to heal faster.” 

Melkor ignored the understatement. Such shallow cuts should have disappeared almost as soon as Mairon made them. “Used to? Then this isn’t the first time?”

“I can’t sleep,” Mairon repeated. “It helps.”

Neither acknowledged the unspoken truth looming over them, that Mairon was stretched too thin, a Maia trying to do a Vala’s work, because his Vala no longer could. 

“I don’t like it, little flame. I don’t want you hurting yourself.” Melkor stripped him of his robe, eyes widening as he took in the extent of the cuts. They spread over Mairon’s torso, packed tightly together. Some were scabbed over, but many wept blood when he shifted. “You will not do this again.”

“Then tell me what I did wrong and don’t ever leave me hanging like that again.” 

Melkor sat in silence for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. Mairon leaned forward to hear him better. “I remember how I felt—scared, suspicious—but nothing that would give me a reason. I was afraid you were plotting to betray me.”

Over Mairon’s protest, Melkor went on. “I know that’s wrong, you would never, there’s not a disloyal bone in your body…” He traced the cuts with gentle, wondering fingers. “If you ever were done with me, I don’t think you’d take Angband anyway. I know you aren’t happy here anymore. You’d rather be tucked away in a little forge in the woods somewhere, or off exploring the east. You always liked it when we explored together.”

Mairon smiled sadly. “I didn’t think I was that obvious.” 

“I do know you.” Melkor pressed his lips to Mairon’s forehead. “I thought if I gave it a little time you’d let it go and it wouldn’t be a problem.”

With a sigh, Mairon took his master’s hands and kissed them. “You can do anything to me, it’s all right. Anything that makes you feel better, less afraid...I’ll always take it, even if I don’t like it. But I have to know what’s in your head. I can’t serve you well if I don’t.”

“I know, my precious. I know.”

Mairon bit his lip and decided to push his luck. “My lord, I've long thought the light of the Silmarils seems hard on you. If you might contemplate wearing them less…perhaps your mind would be easier.” There was a good chance his words would knock Melkor right back into rage and paranoia, but he had to try. 

“I’ll take it under consideration. Now let’s tend to you.”

At first Mairon thought he would be punished again, and he was content with that. He had entered unbidden against a direct order, and that would be enough without having cut himself and gotten caught. But Melkor scooped him up and laid him gently on the bed, then began kissing him, starting with his wrist, so softly that his lips barely brushed Mairon’s skin. He visited every cut in turn, breathing warmth into Mairon’s very being. 

Mairon squirmed. He’d rather be touching Melkor, lavishing him with the attention he’d been forced to contain.

“No. Just be still.” Melkor took his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head so that he had no choice. He kissed Mairon hard, biting his lips and plunging his tongue deep. Mairon whimpered gladly and pushed up into the kiss, but Melkor was already moving on with maddeningly light touches, stopping to lick wherever Mairon bled. It was just enough pain to make Mairon crave more, and by the time Melkor paused to pull Mairon’s breeches off and remove his own clothes, Mairon was nearly sobbing with desire.

“Please, my lord, fuck me, use me, I’m yours!”

Melkor smirked, spreading Mairon’s legs apart. “Patience, little flame.” With a snap of his fingers, he conjured oil to slick his length. He penetrated Mairon slowly but unrelentingly, giving him just enough time to stretch around his massive cock that pain did not fully mask the pleasure. 

“Master,” Mairon gasped. He moved his hips, trying to draw Melkor deeper, but Melkor pressed an arm to Mairon’s throat and leaned his weight into it. Mairon’s eyes widened as his breath was cut off, and he gave Melkor an adoring smile. Lifting Mairon into a better position, Melkor began to thrust. Each stroke filled Mairon and grazed over his prostate. Heat rose to a fever within him. He was achingly hard, and the lack of air made his head swim with bliss. He wondered briefly if Melkor would let him come or deny him after all, but he hardly cared either way. This was enough, his master above him, within him, owning and enjoying him. 

Melkor took Mairon’s cock in hand as he released his throat and bent to claim his lips. A dam burst within him, and Mairon’s orgasm ripped through him like a storm, an electric rush that left him gasping and trembling in its aftermath. Melkor had collapsed atop him, and as his mind slowly recovered and began to work again, Mairon realized he wasn’t moving. Carefully he rolled Melkor to his side and shook his shoulder. Mairon's arms were unblemished as if the knife had never touched them. He looked down at himself. All his cuts were healed. He cursed under his breath; Melkor didn’t have that power to spare. 

Several frighteningly long minutes later, Melkor opened his eyes. “Mmm. That’s more like it.” He smiled at Mairon and opened his arms.

Mairon grudgingly let himself be hugged. “My lord. That was extremely stupid. I would have healed fine; I just needed a little time.”

“Can’t have my favorite Maia hurting like that.”

Mairon couldn’t help it. He hid his face in Melkor’s chest and cried. 

Melkor held him. “Shh, it’s all right, you’re all right, I’ve got you.”

For the rest of the night, Mairon set aside his cares and let his lord comfort him and encircle him in his strength. They’d deal with the consequences tomorrow.


End file.
